Mine
by Blood of an Authoress
Summary: He was now, and is forever more, mine. Slash


Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to the author J.K. Rowling and not to myself.

Warning: This contains slash.

Mine

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I smirk cruelly at the red-head seated next to Dumbledore's tool, Potter, in Potions class. He pales slightly upon my staring at him, but glares back with a minimal amount of spirit showing within his eyes. I'm secretly pleased that he still has spirit after my breaking of him. So willing to help Potter in any way, he was. I'm sure he regrets that now, even in the slightest amount, however unconscious it may be. Taking Potter's place in Voldemort's plan to hurt the boy-who-lived was stupid of him. Voldemort wasn't the happiest at the change in plan, but it still worked the way he wanted it to. Better actually. I though, on the other hand, was extraordinarily pleased at the change. Better the red-head than the Potter brat, much, much better.

The plan? For me to take Potter's innocence, to break his spirit, make him vulnerable, unable to function properly. But worry about a friend does just as good a job. Weasley found out about what I was to do, said he'd tell Dumbledore. What a fool, acting as if I hadn't already cleared this with Dumbledore. He only said to be gentle with the boy; he was his tool after all. I agreed unhappily. What good was it for me to touch such a revolting thing if it couldn't even be rough and harsh on the boy? But after Weasley found out, he said he would take Potter's place. At first I thought he would back down after a few seconds under my glare. He just glared back, daring me to not agree. But I did, in the end, agree to let him take his place. Why not? It would be more fun for me to have the red-head in my clutches rather than Potter. Besides, he was better looking than Potter was. Looks just like his father, hah! Though his father wasn't blessed with a lot of looks, he still had much more than his son!

After this was agreed upon I made him chew his words. I took him then, in my bedchambers, roughly. Since it wasn't Potter it didn't have to be all sweet and gentle. After all, he wasn't Dumbledore's tool so the headmaster didn't concern himself with his well-being. Afterwards and I took him in my arms, he was shivering with hate, resentment, and lust. It was his first time, and it amused me immensely. Sixteen and he wasn't even past snogging with that Granger girl. Pathetic it was. But it didn't matter anymore; he would not be allowed to be with the Granger girl. He was mine now. No matter what he said, he was wearing my collar under his robes, marking him as mine. Only I could take it off, and that was not going to happen anytime soon, not if I could help it. I was... fond of the red-head. He was amusing, and quite a sight, especially naked.

Over time Potter and Granger noticed him disappearing at night, and not coming back until dawn. Arguments happened many times over him not telling them. His eyes became weary after a short while. The kisses and comings I stole from him after Potions class, and during the detentions I gave him didn't shock him any more, they didn't faze them. After time he began to respond, but not truly. They were actions, but without anything behind them. He was beyond the point of caring any more what I did with him, he was resigned to it. And though Granger and Potter never did find out where he disappeared to all the time, or put together the clues, they all remained friends. Of course, it was a strained relationship, and there was talk among the Gryffindors. Minerva mentioned the strained friendship during a teacher meeting, but Dumbledore quickly dismissed it, saying that the death of Sirius must be affecting them, and that he would talk to them about it.

Voldemort was most pleased when he learned that Potter and Granger were becoming tired with their lives, slacking, not as eager for each day to pass by. But then, they were also becoming less naive with each death reported, each attack that Voldemort sent out to happen. Too bad Weasley was the least naive of them all, when he was supposed to be the most. Draco was quick to figure out that he was part of Voldemort's plan when Weasley didn't respond to his taunts anymore, and when he noticed that I was issuing more detentions than usual to him. He was not gloating about this though. He asked his father and found out what I was doing with the red-head. He wasn't happy. He had wanted the red-head for a birthday present. This was understandable, with how the boy turned out with looks.

Bright copper hair that shined under the sunlight, warm - at least at first - amber eyes that showed intellectual thoughts that had appeared after his sixth year started, a lean, yet strong, body. A supreme beauty that was never recognized except but by a few such as myself. Even he himself had yet to recognize his beauty, which made him all the more appealing in my eyes. Gone was the lanky awkward teenager, and in his place stood a tall, appealing eye candy. Girls eyed him in the hall, wondering if they could have a chance to be his girlfriend, and wondering if he was dating anyone. Bloody hell, you could even see guys sneaking looks at him in the halls, in class, at lunch. Even as I scolded them, I understood why they looked at him that way. I did too, when no one could see. I especially liked looking at his ass. A fine piece of meat, if I do say so myself.

When Granger started to suspect something, not a word spilled forth from her lips. And when Potter caught Weasley and I in the aftermath of hot, heated sex, come sliding down from between our bodies, it was never reported to Dumbledore, and never mentioned during our Occlumency lessons. I suppose that Potter was finally learning not to trust Dumbledore. When a rumor spread that I was in a relationship with Weasley, not one letter was sent home to a parent, or brought up around any teachers. When Weasley was questioned by his family, he never told them anything but lies. And when brought to Death Eater meetings, no one mentioned him being there. When Draco's birthday came and he eyed Weasley with want, no complaints were made to his father. It was never confronted.

And even though it was believed that I was a spy for the Light side, I was actually spying for Voldemort, under the pretense of being Dumbledore's spy, a Death Eater that was seeking redemption by trying to do good to right his wrongs. How clique and untrue that was, and in all of his wisdom, Dumbledore never figured it out until I killed him the day that Potter, Granger, and Weasley graduated from Hogwarts. I believe after that day McGonagall, who had then become the Headmistress, suspected I wasn't truly working for the Light side. Funny thing is, I was never questioned with a truth serum. Nor was Weasley ever initiated into the Order of the Phoenix. They knew in their hearts I wasn't working for them, and that Weasley was mine, but they refused to acknowledge it in their small hope that they were wrong. If I am correct, they even had a meeting about whether to do something or not. I never was approached. I was still trusted with the most secret of their secrets. Fools, all of them.

On Dumbledore's burial day I stood there, Weasley at my side, Granger and Potter on his other side, fighting to keep a smirk off of my face as Fudge attempted to sing Dumbledore's praises to try to get back on the public's good side after it was proved that Dumbledore and Potter were indeed right that year when Sirius was killed, that Voldemort was back. He was shot with an arrow half-way through his speech, killing him instantly. I'm positive Potter saw the smirk that had found its way onto my face when it happened by the small glare he gave me, even though Fudge's death was no loss to him. Over his sixth and seventh years Potter had grown into a much colder person, not fazed by people dying in front of him. He grew almost as unemotional as Draco was, and I congratulated him silently for realizing emotions were useless in war, even though it wouldn't help him to win against Voldemort. He simply lacked the smarts and experience that the Dark Lord had.

Weasley was still mine, and only a puppy that nipped at best. The fire that was once in his eyes no longer burned so bright and intensely. It grew even dimmer once Voldemort won the war, killing both Granger and Potter. The Dark Side had won, and now the wizarding world was Voldemort's. Weasley was branded with the Dark Mark soon after Voldemort's win, and he was apprenticed in the Dark Arts by Lucius. I taught him how to correctly brew the most deadly and harmful of potions, and he was taught stealth and slyness by multiple Death Eaters. Weasley soon became a favorite of Voldemort's. It was understandable by all means. He was skilled in the Dark Arts, the brewing of the potions, and once properly taught, he was the slyest of us all. He took no pleasure in it at all though, going on the raids to kill the Mudbloods and muggleborns. He did it with out emotion or thought. He was little more than a robot until I took him to see Potter and Granger's graves. I thought it couldn't hurt for him to see them. Well, it didn't hurt him at all, actually, it seemed to do him good.

After visiting their graves he threw himself into the Dark Arts, going on every raid that he could, trying to get a purpose in his life. He tried to free himself from the bond that I had put on he and I by trying to kill me. I had to teach him after that, and though he stopped trying to kill me, or even himself, he always refused that he was mine. The fire was back in his eyes, and the nipping puppy became a roaring lion. It made the sex interesting at least. We always fought for domination, and he rarely won. When he did though, he was rougher than me, and I liked it. I liked looking at him in his uniform, though his 'uniform' also made others look as well. It consisted of medicine wrappings criss-crossing down his arms, and leather crossings on his chest, showing much of it off. The shorts that he wore were short, black, and had leather strips dangling off of the bottom. He also wore leather boots that hugged his legs. Hmm, yes, the joys of youth. But those years of youth for him were sliding away quickly.

After all, the years had passed, and he had come to acknowledge the fact that he was, indeed, mine, and I had taken him over.

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All reviews will be appreciated. Thank you.

Note: This is a story of mine that I've posted on another account - Yuuri Asakura. Please don't accuse me of stealing this story from myself if you've read it there.


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